


Flowerdeep Fields

by Brit Hux-Tico (birchwoods01)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Hostage Situations, Prisoner of War, Wrestling, brief hand to hand combat fighting, phannah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birchwoods01/pseuds/Brit%20Hux-Tico
Summary: “You really don’t remember me…”“Remember you? You’re TZ-1719, a Storm Trooper, one in millions, not memorable.”Captain Phasma had the pleasure of training storm trooper TZ-1719, and the pleasure of sharing her bed. The Chrome Captain thought she would never see her again, until a woman by the name of Jannah sneaks on board a star destroyer and uses Phasma as a hostage to make her way off ship. Will the two women remember one another? Or will battle lines be drawn between the two?
Relationships: Jannah/Phasma (Star Wars)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	Flowerdeep Fields

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm glad you found your way to this wonderful new oneshot of mine! This idea came to me when I was searching for a fun F/F couple to write about in Star Wars (as a Sapphic, I love 'em), and I realized Phasma never really got anything wonderful and good and just for her in the films. Neither did Jannah, really. Both of these marvelous ladies are also storm troopers! So, even though it's a crackship, I absolutely love this concept. Consider this a brief introduction into Phannah's "origin story", so to speak. 
> 
> I have two people to thank: [ @ElfMaidenOfLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfMaidenOfLight/pseuds/ElfMaidenOfLight) and [ @Dianalynn1138](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dianalynn1138/pseuds/Dianalynn1138) for beta'ing this fic for me. Love you both!

Captain Phasma was used to a lonely existence, content in this due to the loss of those loved long before, replacing all desire for family and home with the hunger to climb and increase in power. 

Brendol Hux taught her that. But Brendol had been foolish. 

Armitage Hux was not. He’d made promises to her, pacts of loyalty, bargains in exchange for favors and tidbits of information. Or at least, it had started out that way. Now, the younger Hux was the only individual that Phasma trusted in the entire galaxy. 

She wondered often if that was because of a genuine sense of feeling between the two or the fact that, together, they shared many secrets that could result in both their executions. 

It isn’t easy to live a life of solitude, especially on nights when the sparring of the day was particularly hard on the joints, or after days in which she had not exposed her true physical form to others and seemed to morph into one being with the chrome armor that encased her body and soul. 

Funny enough, Phasma did not feel lonely now, despite the fact that she was a prisoner and hostage. 

She’d spent days like this, her toned and heavily muscled arms now aching and tired from the pulled position of being latched behind her back in binders. Her arse and tailbone throbbed mercilessly from the way she had to sit awkwardly on the packed dirt floor of the canvas tent she was in, the wooden rod support beam stiff at her back. 

She could practically feel the bacteria crawling on her, in need of bathing and a change out of her filthy First Order under-armor, but her captors refused, rightfully afraid of her. 

Well, most were afraid of her, but not _her_ : trooper TZ-1719. 

The people on this moon called her _Jannah_ now, which was foolish and ridiculous. As if claiming a name could help one claim identity and soul. TZ-1719 had been conditioned with the rest of the Storm Troopers, but something in her mind had been too strong and she had snapped free.

It happened while Phasma was off duty, sparring in one of the practice dojos on board the Finalizer, alone and late in the evening. Jannah happened upon her and held her at blaster point, used her as a hostage to insure safe passage off of the star destroyer. 

Phasma could have risked getting shot to avoid being removed from the ship, but something in her gut convinced her to wait, to take her time, to find the exact, right moment to react. But as Jannah forcefully loaded her into the escape pod, she had injected her with a sleeping stim and Phasma had woken up here, on this moon, tied to the beam within this canvas tent. 

Phasma arched her back and shifted her torso, pushing with her knees to raise up the pole. Finding a slightly more comfortable position, she rested once more, and let out a sigh of exhaustion, head lolling on her shoulder. 

The tent flap opened without warning and Jannah crouched through the entrance, the smell of food wafting in after her. She approached the large woman without hesitation, crouching to a seat between Phasma’s outstretched legs, unafraid. 

Phasma had already tried choking the life out of her with her thighs, to no avail. Jannah was an excellent hand to hand fighter, and without the use of Phasma’s arms, exhausted and drowsy from captivity, she had failed. 

“Time to eat, Phas,” Jannah murmured cordially, gathering a plump piece of meat between two slim fingers. 

Phasma made a face and turned her head away, a flop of messy platinum blonde hair drooping over her blue eyes. 

“What do you need me for? Just kill or return me. No fool in the galaxy will trade for me.”

Jannah let the piece of meat fall back onto the platter, her head turning to one side. 

Phasma peered up at her face, surprised to find the other woman smiling. 

She looked lovely and refreshed, living on this planet. Her dark hair, normally kept in tight braids along her scalp to suit the trooper helmet, was buoyant and free, tight curled ringlets held back from her face by a colorful scarf tied across her head. Her skin tone was warm and golden brown, not pale and ashen, now that she had seen the sun again, and the gaunt look was gone from a healthier diet, and healthier attitude. 

TZ-1719 looked happy. 

Phasma forced herself to look away, at anywhere or at anything else. 

Jannah glanced back down at the plate of food, seemingly in thought. 

After a moment of quiet, she spoke. 

“If I return you, you’ll just come back for us,” Jannah answered, referring to the rest of the deserters that had taken up home on this moon. “And I can’t trade you, because if I tell the First Order I have Captain Phasma here on Kef Bir, they’ll just trick me and kill us all. Right?”

Phasma was not entirely sure she was right. Hux was her best friend, but he was also the First Order’s most loyal supporter. 

It was not likely he would negotiate her safe return, as any move would bring harm to the Order. 

“So kill me then,” Phasma challenged coldly, meeting the warm brown gaze of the other woman, raising one eyebrow in defiance. “What other purpose is there to keep me tied to this bloody tent peg, keeping me just barely alive?”

Jannah shifted from her knees back to her bottom, folding her legs beneath her and resting the plate of food on the ground, her expression one of disappointment.

“You really don’t remember me…”

Phasma kept her face blank, imagining she still wore that chrome helmet she’d practically grafted into her being; concealing her face, protecting her feelings. 

“Remember you? You’re TZ-1719, a Storm Trooper, one in millions, not memorable.”

It was a lie, of course. Phasma did remember her- remembered that she had personally hand picked TZ-1719 for hand to hand combat training, remembered that the young woman had impressed her with her skill and her attitude, remembered the heated looks and glances as the two wrestled one another in the dojo after practices, late into the night. 

She remembered how Jannah had reached out with her hand and heart and pressed her mouth to Phasma’s; remembered the smooth, soft heat of her kiss.

And Phasma remembered how she’d handled the infraction: by pushing the trooper away and eventually reassigning her to another squadron. 

It was two years later that Jannah found her way back to working beneath Phasma’s rank; by then the Captain thought she had hardened her heart beyond temptation. But they’d found themselves a nest of safety in one another’s beds, until Jannah’s unit had been deployed. 

She had never returned.

Now, the two women studied one another: one curious, the other terrified. 

“If I let you out for a bath, will you behave?” 

Phasma looked up into Jannah’s eyes with visible surprise. Jannah smiled, a glimmer of hope sparkling in her gaze 

A surge of affectionate desire stepped forth from the dusty, dark gloom of Phasma’s heart, but she suppressed it with the grit of her teeth and set of her jaw, nodding once, the motion tight. 

Jannah got to her feet, took the plate of food to rest on the nearby table, and pulled her blaster from her back pocket, removing the safety and training it on the tall, blonde woman across from her. 

With a click, the binders fell away from Phasma’s hands and she pulled them forward with a groan, massaging her wrists, her arms and shoulders trembling from the sudden change in pressure. 

“Kriff…” she expelled in a breath as she tried to stand. Jannah did not move to help her, wisely keeping out of the distance of Phasma’s grip and keeping the blaster on target. 

Once Phasma was on her booted feet, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to her head, Jannah motioned out the tent flap with the blaster barrel and Phasma obediently went. 

The former trooper led her to a hot spring on the side of a hill, one surrounded by a sparse field filled with tiny red flowers and dark rocks that seemed volcanic in source. The Captain did not wait to disrobe, not shy in the least from years of military training, and slipped her pale naked body into the heated water with a groan of delight, not missing the way Jannah watched her, eyes wide, lips pressed thinly together. 

Phasma glanced up into her face as she tread water, an unexpected and old flame of longing running through her. But Jannah turned her head away, the blaster still pointed in Phasma’s direction, and their connection was broken.

Once clear of grime and feeling refreshed, her muscles deliciously aching from the warmth of the water, Phasma pulled herself gracefully out of the pool and reached for the tunic and pants Jannah had given her to change into. She felt the other woman’s eyes on her the entire time she changed, and the tiniest burn of a blush crossed her cheekbones. 

“Where now?” Phasma asked stonily as she pulled on her boots and got to her feet. 

Their eyes met as Jannah gestured back in the direction of the tent. 

“Are you going to lock me up again?” Phasma asked, her voice trembling. 

Jannah frowned. 

“That depends on you,” she answered honestly, not lowering the blaster. 

Phasma nodded, finding that fair. 

Back in the tent, Phasma sank to a seat on the makeshift bed of furs that Jannah slept on every night, thankful to have a cushion now and the side of the frame to support her back. She wolfed down the food her captor had brought her, her stomach eagerly welcoming the nutrition to stop it’s aching. 

Jannah watched her every move with a trained eye, the blaster lowered, but still held, safety off. 

“Is there more?” the Captain asked as she finished, running one finger around the plate to pick up the juices, lapping it with her tongue. 

Jannah laughed, though the sound was hollow. 

“I forgot,” she mused with a tilt of her head. “You’re the type that consumes calories like air.”

An uncomfortable feeling gripped Phasma’s heart. She studied the floor. 

“You never knew me,” she muttered quietly. 

Across the small room, Jannah sat up a little straighter, leaning one elbow on the knee she had raised beside her. 

“But I did,” Jannah countered with ease, a look of disbelief on her features. “And you knew me.”

“I knew TZ-1719, a fighter for the cause, a soldier, a woman with grit and spirit,” Phasma countered viciously, her heart pounding in her chest. “And now what are you, a rebel? Resistance fighter? What have you done to yourself?”

“What have you done to _yourself_ ?” Jannah countered, temper rising. She got to her feet, holding the blaster at her side. “Legendary Captain Phasma, strong, capable, strikes fear in the heart of her enemies, but so damn lonely and yet incapable of letting anyone in. You had a chance to be _free,_ with me.”

Phasma laughed once, a cold, frigid sound, and rolled her eyes, pressing a hand over them. Defensive mechanisms, only, to make Jannah insecure and conceal the pain within. 

“Is that why you left the Order? Is that why you took me hostage? So we could… _be together_? Ridiculous.”

Jannah made a furious sound, something between a huff and a growl, and shook her head, the fullness of her hair bouncing with the motion. 

“Absolutely not. I left the Order because they’re nothing but murderers and thieves, because I never should have been with them in the first place.”

Phasma did not like that she was wounded by this answer, and got to her feet. Jannah responded by raising that blaster, pointing it right at Phasma’s chest. 

“This still doesn’t answer why you couldn’t just let me go,” Phasma countered. “You drugged me and carted me away in your escape pod. You’ve kept me here for weeks.”

Jannah could not respond, only kept her weapon trained on the other woman, doing her very best not to appear afraid. 

“Do something,” Phasma ordered, stepping toward her. “Take a shot, kill me, or own up to why you brought me here.”

Phasma was right in front of Jannah, the both of them tense and hesitant, but as Phasma lashed out, reaching for Jannah’s weapon hand, the blaster went off, a bolt of red hot fire crashing into a stack of crates in the corner, sending various tools scattered to the floor. 

Phasma took hold of Jannah’s wrists and turned her around into a body lock, holding the frame of the smaller woman against her. Jannah struggled, kicked her booted foot into Phasma’s shin, and luckily got a good hit in, because the Captain released her. 

But the tall blonde surged forward again, one hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle and strength, dodging Jannah’s right hook and coming upward with a tackle that sent Jannah flying backward onto the floor. 

Phasma pinned her there, holding Jannah’s hands high above her head, trying to wrestle the blaster from her grip. Jannah kicked her legs and groaned as she struggled, pulling with all of her might until one of her hands was freed. She shoved her palm up into Phasma’s throat, knocking the wind from her, and with a twist of her thighs, rotated the other woman onto her back. 

Jannah held the blaster tip to Phasma’s chest, straddled over her belly, breathing so heavy her chest rose and fell while Phasma choked for her own air. 

As her breathing leveled out, Phasma glanced at the tip of the blaster, then up into Jannah’s face, tentatively placing her hands on the other woman’s thighs with light pressure. 

At the touch, Jannah pressed the blaster harder into her chest, her lip curling back angrily, and Phasma froze. 

“I just… want you to get up, please,” Phasma spoke carefully. 

But Jannah did not get up. With the hand not holding the blaster, Jannah slowly reached for one of Phasma’s hands on her thighs, and with a tentatively held breath, covered it with her own. 

The stern expression on Phasma’s face faltered, her gaze now uncertain as she looked into Jannah’s warm eyes. The blaster drooped slightly against her chest as Jannah leaned forward, and Phasma’s heart skipped unevenly in her chest. 

Her kiss felt even more wonderful than Phasma had remembered, the tingling magic spreading through her body at the touch, reminding her of sunny evenings on her home planet, of returning home after a long time away, of finding solace and camaraderie in the heart of another. She lay there, still and scared, accepting the affection from this other woman, her body roiling with excited desire at the way Jannah’s soft, full mouth nipped and nuzzled against her lips, the way her tongue grazed her flesh, the way she teased hope from her heart with every motion. 

The blaster clattered to the floor as Phasma sat up in one move, her arms going around Jannah’s body to cradle her close, one hand pressed to her face. She kissed her back, stars exploding behind her eyes when Jannah moaned a precious little sound of pure joy. 

Their tongues met, exploring and soft, heads tilted to deepen their touch, hungry sounds of need shared between the two women as Jannah ran her fingers down Phasma’s strong arms, rolling her hips slightly to settle closer into her lap. 

They broke their connection only to breathe, and gaze into one another’s eyes, the former Trooper stroking a strand of pale blonde hair from the Captain’s brow, giving her a beautiful smile. 

“So… you remember me?” Jannah whispered hopefully. 

“I remember you,” Phasma answered. 

A breathy laugh left Jannah’s lips as Phasma lifted her into her arms, getting awkwardly to her feet, still not quite to her full strength as she’d been. But the bed was close, and as Phasma lowered her former lover into the soft pile of furs, Jannah was already yanking at the bottom of her tunic, ripping it away over her head and letting it fall to the floor of the tent. 

Phasma’s eyes left Jannah’s, dragging slowly down the length of her torso, following her gaze with the touch of her palm, grazing worshipfully over the expanse of her pretty brown skin, the round, soft fullness of her breasts. Tucking her hands behind her back to support her, Jannah wiggled her way out of her pants, kicking her shoes off onto the floor. 

There was no hesitation or concern as Phasma sat up to follow suit, pulling her own tunic over her head, discarding the pants, before she crawled over the eagerly awaiting woman and their hands found one another again. 

This had been sorely missed: the feel of skin on skin, soft breast to breast, curve to curve, and the delight Jannah seemed to share at being sensual and open with someone she trusted. 

Phasma had forgotten the little sounds she would make, the sighs and laughter, the teasing murmurs, the moans. 

But as she kissed her eager way down her lover's body, as she touched and explored with fervent hunger the perfect terrain of her flesh, all the memories came back to her, filling Phasma with a mournful delight that she had ever denied this between them. 

“Just like that,” Jannah sighed in contentment, her fingers finding Phasma’s hair and grazing her scalp with her fingernails as Phasma pressed her lips to her labia. 

Moments later and sighs became drawn out, husky moans, as Phasma mouthed her way over her clitoris like a woman starved, lapping the little eager bud rapidly with exuberant fervor. Jannah’s hips bucked helplessly as Phasma cycled through the things she knew her lover liked: a powerful suction, long and tight, followed by a rapid series of tongued laps, her fingers finding her entrance and teasingly thrusting in time with every other motion, an endless rhythm of pleasure. 

Jannah shouted in near agony as she came, pressing a fist to her forehead as her spine arched, and Phasma only renewed her efforts, snorting breath through her nose as she sucked eagerly on her lover’s pussy, holding her up high through her orgasm. 

Jelly-legged and entirely sated, Jannah lay limp on the bed, her hands wandering over the top of Phasma’s head and to her shoulder, bumbling in their search for touch. 

With a kiss to Jannah’s inner thigh, to her abdomen, to her navel, Phasma took Jannah’s hands and moved to lay beside her, curving one strong arm beneath her head to support her. 

“Have you done that to any other women?” Jannah asked outright as they cuddled in her post-coitus, her expression one of entire bliss. 

Phasma’s mouth pulled into a reluctant grin, one she quickly tried to hide, but she shook her head. 

“No… no I have not.”

With a muffled moan, Jannah turned on her side and slid her knee between Phasma’s legs, running her hand slowly down to tiptoe her fingertips along the plush softness of her pubic hair. 

“Good,” she answered Phasma's questioning look, and pushed the other woman down onto her back, lowering to claim her lips in a lazy kiss. 

It was hard for Phasma to orgasm, difficult because all her life had been one denial after another, and it was easy for her to feel undeserving of anything good. But Jannah had managed before, and Jannah had helped. 

And Jannah had loved her, before Phasma had made the foolish, self-loathing decision to send her away. 

Now, as Jannah held Phasma’s eyes with a gorgeous smile, one hand cupping her breast, lazily rolling her nipple beneath her soft thumb, the other stroking slowly through her slick, arousal burned within her. 

This eye contact was crucial, critical for Phasma, and Jannah knew that. The realization of this fact struck Phasma mute, and her heart swelled as the other woman leaned down to kiss her, beginning with her lips, a lap of her tongue, then migrated to her cheekbones and beneath her eyes, while her thumb prodded gently against her clit, her two fingers curling within her, increasing pressure in the perfect spot. 

Her eyes watered with unshed tears and Phasma looked away, the arousal subsiding, momentarily, but Jannah pulled her back, slowing her motions, nudging her nose to Phasma’s before gazing deeply into her eyes. 

She whispered the sweetest things, confessions and hopes that Phasma would come to the light, would see the truth of the Order, would choose self over duty for once. 

And as Jannah’s eyes, and heart, and hands worked on her, Phasma came apart at the seams, shuddering into an orgasm so intense that she cried, one arm hooked around Jannah’s neck, holding on tight to the other woman as if in letting go, she might fall. 

They lay there in quiet afterward, lazily exchanging kisses, fingers intertwined, hearts full. 

At some point, Jannah fell asleep, and Phasma lay there in the falling dark, staring at the canvas above her head. 

Honor and duty were all she had ever known. She’d traded so much of her life away for honor and duty, for order. 

Everyone around her had done the same. Armitage Hux had done the same. 

Was it worth it? 

She turned her head and examined the shadowy form of Jannah in the dark, confused at the swell of emotion in her heart to see her there, content and sleepy, safe. 

Feeling safe with her. 

The Order didn’t seem to be looking for her. Perhaps they didn’t care. Perhaps Armitage didn’t care. Or perhaps he thought her dead. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, so wrong, to stay a little bit longer here with her. 

**Author's Note:**

> Authors thrive on comments! If you loved this work, let me know in the comments below! 
> 
> Come follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ardentlyloveyou)!


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